The disadvantages of the LAPD

The hospital waiting room had never felt so cold. The sterile white walls, the faint hum of fluorescent lights overhead—it all felt suffocating. Tim had been here for hours, his nerves slowly fraying with each minute that passed. Lucy was in surgery, her condition still critical. He couldn't shake the image of her, unconscious and bloodied, from his mind.

At first, he'd tried to keep his composure. He sat, he paced, he stared at his phone screen, willing it to light up with some good news. But as time dragged on, his resolve began to crumble. He was afraid.

The sound of the waiting room door opening pulled Tim from his thoughts. He looked up and saw Jackson and Tamara enter together. Jackson's face was a mix of exhaustion and concern, while Tamara's expression was unreadable, her eyes tired but sharp.

"How is she?" Jackson asked, his voice barely a whisper.

Tim didn't know how to answer. He opened his mouth but nothing came out. The fear in his chest was choking him. He had to swallow hard before he could finally speak. "They're doing everything they can," he managed. "But they... they don't know if she's going to make it."

Tamara moved to sit beside him, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. Her touch was grounding, but even that couldn't calm the storm raging inside him.

"Tim, you need to breathe," Tamara said softly, her voice steady despite the anxiety in her eyes. "You can't help her by losing it."

Tim gave a short nod, but the truth was, he didn't know how to stop. Every time his mind wandered, he thought of Lucy—what she'd been through, the pain she must have been in when she'd been shot, the blood, the weight of the situation. He kept playing it over and over, imagining worse-case scenarios, unable to shake the images.

"We'll wait together," Jackson said, sitting down next to Tim on the opposite side.

They all settled into a tense silence, the only sound being the occasional shuffle of paper or the murmur of distant conversations. It felt like the hours dragged on in slow motion. Tim had lost track of time, but as the sun began to dip behind the horizon, the waiting room started to thin out. Other families, patients, and visitors had left, and now, it was just the three of them.

Tamara shifted in her seat, her gaze flicking over to Tim, then to Jackson. "Did you talk to her parents yet?" she asked, her voice tentative.

Tim shook his head, his jaw clenching. "No. I—I don't know what to say."

Tamara nodded, as if she understood. "It's hard. But they'll want to know."

"I know," Tim muttered, rubbing his hands over his face. "I just—I'm trying to hold it together for her, you know? But it feels like I'm failing her."

"You're not failing her," Jackson said quietly, his voice unusually calm. "You're here. You're doing the right thing by being here."

But the truth was, Tim wasn't sure what the right thing was anymore. He wanted to hold Lucy's hand, tell her everything would be okay, even though deep down, he feared that it wouldn't be.

Hours passed. The three of them tried to talk, but their conversations were fragmented, distracted. Jackson and Tamara made small talk, trying to keep the mood light, but Tim could feel the weight of their concern, the unspoken worry that hung in the air like a cloud.

As the night stretched on, Tim stood up again, pacing the room. Every minute felt like an eternity. He couldn't sit still anymore. His thoughts were too scattered, too filled with dread.

"Can you give us an update?" Tim asked the nurse who had walked past him. He tried to keep his voice steady, but there was no mistaking the desperation in his eyes.

The nurse paused, glancing at him with a sympathetic look. "We'll let you know as soon as there's any change," she said gently, her voice low. "I'm sure the doctors will be out soon to give you an update."

But no one came. The room felt colder now, darker, as the hours stretched on. Tim's mind was reeling, his thoughts constantly circling back to Lucy. He wanted to be in that operating room with her, holding her hand, telling her she wasn't alone. But all he could do was wait. And waiting was torture.

Finally, just as Tim felt like he was about to lose his mind, the door to the waiting room opened again. The tension in the air shifted, as if the room collectively held its breath. A surgeon walked in—covered in blood. It wasn't Lucy's blood. It couldn't be. But it didn't matter. The sight of the surgeon's bloodied scrubs, their face grim, sent a cold shiver down Tim's spine.

Tim shot up from his seat, his heart racing. "How is she?" he asked urgently, his voice raw.

The surgeon paused for a moment, surveying the room with a weary look. "She's stable," they said, but there was no relief in their voice. "For now. The surgery was complex, and there's still a long road ahead."

Tim's knees felt weak. His breath hitched in his chest. He felt a flood of emotion—relief, yes, but it was tempered with the understanding that this was far from over. Lucy wasn't out of danger. Not by a long shot.

"Is she awake?" Tim asked, his voice tight with emotion.

The surgeon shook their head. "No. She's still unconscious. We're keeping her sedated to manage the pain and prevent any complications."

Tim's heart sank. "Is she going to be okay? Is she going to make it?"

The surgeon didn't answer immediately. They seemed to search for the right words. Finally, they spoke, their voice soft but firm.

"It's too soon to tell. We'll continue monitoring her closely, but there are no guarantees."

Tim's world seemed to tilt. He didn't know what to say. He didn't know what to feel. There were no guarantees. He had been holding on to hope, but now, he was being forced to face the reality that Lucy's recovery might not be as smooth as he had hoped.

The surgeon gave a brief nod, as though the conversation was over. But Tim wasn't ready to let go of the thread of hope that still clung to him.

"Is she—" Tim started, but he couldn't finish the sentence. He didn't know what he wanted to ask anymore. The surgeon just shook their head, their face blank, before turning to leave.

Tim felt a wave of helplessness wash over him, stronger than before. Jackson and Tamara exchanged a quick glance, and for a moment, no one knew what to say. The silence stretched on, heavy and oppressive.

Tim's fingers gripped his phone, and he thought about calling Lucy's parents, but the words wouldn't come. How could he tell them that their daughter was hanging on by a thread? How could he possibly say that to them?

Tamara, sensing his turmoil, stood up and walked over to him. "Hey," she said softly, placing a hand on his arm. "We're here. You're not alone, okay?"

Tim nodded, his throat thick with emotion. He wanted to believe her. But in this moment, the fear was overwhelming.

As the surgeon disappeared down the hallway, Tim's gaze remained fixed on the door, his mind racing with worry. The doctor hadn't given him any answers—just more questions. And the weight of it all was unbearable.

At that moment, a rush of doctors and nurses spilled into the hallway, passing by in a blur. Tim caught a glimpse of one of them—a nurse—looking his way. She hesitated, but then turned and hurried after the surgeon.

Something wasn't right.

Tim's heart skipped a beat as the realization hit him. The door to the operating room was still closed. But behind that door, his worst fear was unfolding.